


Season and Circumstance

by mongoose_bite



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Class Differences, Clothed Sex, First Time, Forbidden Love, Intercrural Sex, Marriage of Convenience, Multi, Older Man/Younger Man, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-11 22:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5644636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Circumstance dictates that there must be a great distance between Eggsy Unwin and Lord Hart, but the seasons turn and bring them together, and seasons turn and pull them apart. Seasons always change. Circumstances must be acted on. A Regency AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a little prompt fill on tumblr that my muse insisted I expand. Please don't look for historical accuracy here.

It was not the first white Christmas in living memory, but it was close. A perfect blanket of snow crusted the village, and perhaps most excitingly, the pond froze over entirely. After some careful stomping on, it was declared fit for skating, and almost the entire village poured out of their homes for an impromptu holiday.

The toffs came too, down from their warm and expansive manor houses, in horse-drawn carriages with blankets across their legs.

“If they talk to you, be polite,” Michelle hissed, tightening Eggsy’s scarf. “We’re lucky to have the Harts.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes. He knew that, but generosity did not compensate for the sheer unfairness of being born into a lower class. They were no better than him, and he refused to see otherwise. He just sort of hoped he’d get to see one fall on their arse.

“Another year and he’s still not married,” Michelle frowned as Harry Hart escorted his niece out onto the ice. No one fell on their arse.

“Mum if he’s not married by the time Daisy’s grown up, he ain’t _ever_ getting married,” Eggsy said, impatient to be out there. “Unless you fancy your chances.” He winked as Michelle told him to stop being cheeky and go have fun.

He found his mates and they wobbled around the pond, trying to push each other off-balance. A chestnut-seller started roasting and the smell of his burning charcoal drifted on the still air. Eggsy mostly liked Christmas for the food, but he had to admit this was sort of magical.

It was near impossible to get any speed up with so many small children and uncertain adults on the ice, and Eggsy and his friends weaved around everyone else. He saw the Harts making their way in a sedate manner. Harry was skating by himself, his hands clasped behind his back, barely a wobble. Then again, he probably went to the Alps every year to practice.

Shoulda stayed there, Eggsy thought. He found a patch of free ice and executed a few twirls. May as well enjoy it while it lasted. His friends had given up and had started a snowball fight instead, but Eggsy wanted at least one perfect spin before he joined them.

He spun.

Right into Harry Hart.

He felt his feet slide out from under him and he was braced for the cold, hard ice, but gloved hands caught him under his elbows, an arm around his back.

“I beg your pardon,” Harry said, as he levered him back up onto his feet. Eggsy had heard about people forgetting their manners when faced with their ‘betters’ but for some reason Eggsy found himself with the opposite problem and he completely forgot to be rude.

“No, it was my fault. I’m really sorry.” Argh he sounded like– like–

“Master Unwin, is it?”

“Yeah.” How did he know? “Eggsy.” He held out his hand without really thinking and Harry shook it, and he was smiling at him.

“You’re quite a skilled skater,” Harry observed, and Eggsy flushed.

“Well, nah, it’s just, balance, innit?” Why was he being so polite? Think about him falling on his arse instead. Think about getting tangled and crashing down together- no, no.

“Um well.” Eggsy managed to drag his gaze up from Harry’s feet to his face, and it took quite a long time, by the standards of such actions. “I should be.” His eyes widened as he saw his friends over Harry’s shoulder, grinning with determined mischief. “No! Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”

Harry flinched forward as the snowball caught him in the back of the neck.

“I am so sor-” Eggsy began, but Harry had gone. He’d glided to the side of the lake and scooped up some snow before hurling it into Jamal’s laughing face.

Eggsy gaped as Harry fashioned another snowball. Harry looked at him, snow starting to drip from his coat and a smile tugging at his lips. “Well, Eggsy, which side are you on?”

“Yours,” Eggsy said, the word sliding past his lips before he'd even thought about it. “I mean,” he hurried to make sense of himself. “Bit uneven otherwise. All of us and one of you.” He grinned and skated over to the side of the pond to fashion his own snowball, keeping his head down because he didn't want to know what sort of expression Harry was wearing.

Harry seemed to take him at his word, putting his back to Eggsy as his friends started making more ammunition. No one, it seemed, had expected Lord Hart to actually join in the game.

Much to their detriment. He was very accurate, and occasionally managed to catch a snowball, absorbing the momentum and hurling it back where it came from. Eggsy's friends called him a turncoat and pelted him with just as much, if not more enthusiasm and when he took cover behind Harry's broad back, Harry didn't seem to mind.

The fight attracted a lot of attention, and spread, and soon those that didn't want to participate were vacating the area as all thoughts of sides were abandoned and snowballs were flung at anyone in range. Except, Harry didn't throw any at him, and Eggsy returned the consideration. They stuck close.

Cold and breathless, snow trickling down the back of his neck, Eggsy couldn't remember when he'd had so much fun. He and Harry stayed on the ice; it was easier to avoid getting hit that way. When he glanced at Harry, he was surprised to see his usually reserved expression replaced by a wide grin that shouldn't have looked so boyish on someone that age.

He's not so bad, Eggsy thought.

This late in the year it would be light for hours yet, but eventually everyone's enthusiasm started to flag. The carriage the Harts had arrived in had long since left to return the majority of the party to the manor.

Harry called for a truce, and suggested the pub to warm up. This suggestion was greeted with grateful cheers, and Harry seemed to accept that the first round would be on him. When they poured into The Black Prince, which was already half-full, Harry indicated that a cask of cider was to be breached for the company, and the publican hurried to obey.

Eggsy joined his mates as they unwound their scarves and shoved gloves into their pockets. The free booze turned the boisterous evening into a party, and Eggsy elbowed his way through for his share, certain the cask wouldn't last long. As soon as he was served he was pushed aside by those behind him and he found himself wedged into a corner, hopelessly separated from his friends, clasping his mug close to stop it getting jostled in the crowd.

“Hey, watch it- oh.”

The tall gent whose elbow had caught his ribs and nearly spilled his cider turned out to be Lord Hart.

The hat and scarf had gone and the fires and lamps of the inn cast his face in a warmer glow. Eggsy found himself staring and Harry regarded him intently as if trying to memorise Eggsy's face.

“Thank you, for all of this,” Eggsy said, ducking his head slightly and motioning with his mug. “Your Lordship.” Out there on the ice it had all seemed easy. Harry was just another man, but now Eggsy was only glad he hadn't taken offence at his earlier familiarity.

“Thank you for the sport, Master Unwin. You played well.”

“So did you.” Why were they still talking, why were they still looking at each other, the background noise fading to a dull roar. “Um, my mum, and me too, are very grateful for the baskets you send each Christmas.” He knew his mum would want him to mention it. It wasn't personal; every household got one, but the Harts weren't obliged either and it was something they all looked forward to each year.

“I'm glad to hear it.” A faint frown. “Didn't your mother remarry?”

Eggsy looked down, ashamed. “Yeah well, they caught Dean housebreakin' two counties over and he legged it and last I heard he was in London and if he comes back 'ere I'll break his face.” He looked up, daring Harry to say a word against it.

“I wouldn't judge you for it. But his crimes are no reflection on you, Eggsy,” he said, and Eggsy already knew that, but not everyone agreed, and he knew Michelle found it hard sometimes, the way people talked about her husband, about her. He only hoped the chatter would die down before Daisy was old enough to understand it.

“Yes, Your Lordship.” He appreciated it, even if he didn't quite believe it.

Harry smiled at him and then someone said, “Your Lordship,” and he turned away and the crowds swallowed him before Eggsy could even wish him a good evening. He sipped his cider instead and tried to calm down; it was probably because Harry was so important that his throat felt so tight, and his stomach so uneasy. Harry was tall enough that he caught glimpses of him as he moved through the crowd and somehow Eggsy found himself waiting for his next glimpse rather than trying to fight his way back to his friends. It had been such a strange evening, all his expectations turned on their heads.

He spotted Harry again and it looked like he was leaving. Well, it wasn't really his sort of party.

He paused in the doorway to pull on his scarf and gloves, and he surveyed the room as he did so, stopping only when his eyes met Eggsy's. His expression didn't change, although Eggsy wasn't sure in the poor light, and distance, but he was sure it was him he was looking at.

And then he was gone, and despite the chill seeping in through the cracks in the wall behind him, Eggsy suddenly felt far, far too warm.


	2. Spring

When Daisy was big enough to start learning her letters, Eggsy sought work outside the village. They had a small amount of land to work, small enough that Michelle could handle it by herself, now that Daisy didn't require such close looking after, and Eggsy sought his fortune in the house on the hill.

At least, that's what he said he was doing.

It wasn't so much his fortune he was seeking, than the tall, elegant gentleman who lived there. Lord Hart had shown more interest in the village these past couple of years, and they'd run across each other a many times. Eggsy would turn to him, like a flower follows the sun, pausing his work in the fields should the Harts' carriage be passing, forgetting it entirely if it was Lord Hart himself on his dappled grey gelding.

Occasionally they ran into each other in town, and Eggsy would duck his head and touch his cap, making a mockery of his own determined defiance of the social order. At least no one else got such consideration; a sullen nod if another gentleman addressed him directly, but why would they, other than to tell him to move out of the way?

Lord Hart spoke to him though, about nothing consequential. How the crops were doing, how his family was doing. Eggsy called him Your Lordship and the words they spoke to each other always felt inconsequential, merely an excuse to talk. And when they went their separate ways Harry paused. Looked back.

 _He always looked back_.

And Eggsy would clench his fists and bite his lip whenever he thought about it, this horrible hollow feeling that only went away when Harry's eyes were on him. He never spoke of it, knew it was wrong, shameful, but couldn't quite bring himself to be ashamed either, not when Harry always looked back.

So despite his vow that he would never serve at the big houses, scraping and bowing before those no better than himself, he presented himself cap in hand, to Lord Hart's steward. He had his reasons ready; if he could earn enough here, educate Daisy properly, maybe she'd find work as something better than a maid, maybe marry up years hence. But he wasn't asked, and his reasons remained his own.

Luckily for Eggsy, spring was the season when young men often left their homes to seek fortune or wives, and the estate was short-handed. He was given a rake and some instructions and joined the household as a stable-hand.

He'd never been to the manor before. It seemed as big as a mountain, all grey stone and ivy, but lively too; as Lord Hart's relatives were expected to visit soon, and rooms closed over winter were being aired out, pantries stocked and linens beaten. None of which was Eggsy's concern, and he put his head down and worked.

The nieces and nephews (and one great-aunt) arrived that afternoon to much fuss, and Eggsy was given a dozen conflicting orders from their coachmen as he worked to stable the horses. Luckily they were offered refreshments in the servant's quarters and left him to it soon after.

Eggsy had just got the horses fed and watered when he heard another set of hoof-beats and he sagged against the wall before making his way out to receive the latest animal.

It was Lord Hart's dapple-grey gelding, lead up to the stables by the man himself. He stopped dead when he saw Eggsy, and Eggsy felt his heart flutter.

“Master Unwin.” He looked him up and down, as if he wasn't quite sure he wasn't seeing things. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm yours,” Eggsy said, and then hurried to explain because _why_ had he thought that was an appropriate thing to say? “I sought work here, now that Daisy is grown big enough.”

He took the reins out of Harry's hand, the gelding sniffing at his shoulder in what Eggsy thought was a friendly manner. He got on well with animals. Harry didn't look too happy to see him, and Eggsy wondered if he'd made a terrible error, his gaze dropping to his feet.

“Eggsy.” His head snapped up as he heard his first name from Harry's lips. “Surely you can do better than this. You're intelligent and determined-”

“I don't intend to stay in the stables,” Eggsy said. “I'll work my way up, you'll see.” He plastered on what he hoped was a cocky grin. “I'll be running this place one day.” That might have been a bit much. “Under your direction, of course.”

“His Lordship is home!” someone called from inside the house.

Harry sighed. “How do they always know?” he muttered. A door opened, spilling warm light. Harry walked towards it, paying Eggsy no further attention as he was welcomed home.

And then he turned and looked back. He always looked back, and Eggsy relaxed.

It was just like it was before, only Eggsy saw Harry more often, until a fine day when all the visitors had gone on an 'outing,' taking half of the servants with them to serve what Eggsy thought was a great excess of pork pies and sandwiches. Eggsy assumed Harry had gone with them in one of the carriages, and he was enjoying the peace until he felt someone at his elbow as he groomed Harry's horse.

“Your Lordship,” Eggsy squeaked, nearly dropping the brush.

“Do you ride, Eggsy?” He was dressed for riding himself, shiny boots and a tweed jacket, a riding crop under one arm, although Eggsy had never seen him use it.

He nodded. “I'm not real practised like, but I can.”

Which was how he found himself both on top of the world and on top of one of the other horses, with Harry riding just slightly ahead as they headed out onto the estate. He'd given no reason for Eggsy's presence, requesting it with studied indifference.

“The others are picnicking by the river,” Harry remarked, and his lips curled upwards briefly. “Let's go the other way.”

Eggsy had learned to ride on his father's old carthorse as a child, and it was coming back to him how it was done. So when Harry gave his gelding its head once they were out of sight of the house, Eggsy dug his heels in too.

He'd sort of forgotten he wasn't riding a carthorse. His mare took off at a canter, joyful in the spring sunshine. Eggsy clung on for dear life, exhilarated and scared in equal measure. She only slowed down when she caught up with Harry's horse, what felt like ten miles later. Harry glanced over his shoulder and Eggsy's face must have been interesting because he slowed up and drew alongside.

“Are you quite well?”

“'M good,” Eggsy said. “Now we've slowed down.”

Harry threw back his head and laughed, and he looked like he had in the snow; unburdened and warm. Eggsy watched him and felt unreasonably lucky to be allowed to share this moment.

“Let's have a break then,” Harry said.

Eggsy dismounted rather ungracefully, sliding down off his horse and then stumbling on unexpectedly shaky legs.

“Eggsy!” Harry caught him again, a moment etched in Eggsy's memory repeated, not in snow but in wildflowers. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Harry's hand was still on his elbow. What _was_ this? “Your Lordship.”

Harry looked at him for a long moment, and Eggsy was distantly aware of his horse stepping away, cropping the grass. “Harry, please,” Harry said and his voice sounded slightly hoarse, like he was nervous.

Eggsy felt his life had all come down to this moment, everything just a prelude, as he gathered his courage and his hope and his heart in both hands and swayed up and into Harry's space and kissed him, just for a moment.

Harry didn't move, didn't pull away. “Say it, Eggsy.”

Eggsy licked his lips, feeling light-headed; his heart hadn't slowed down since he'd got on the horse.

“Harry,” he said. A name without titles.

Harry beamed at him, crow's feet crinkling and Eggsy gasped as Harry wrapped his arms around him and flung them both down into the grass, Eggsy sprawled against Harry's chest, smelling the fresh greenery crushed beneath them and Harry himself, tea and cigar smoke and soap.

And when Eggsy raised his head, wide-eyed to look at him, Harry leaned up and kissed him back.

Eggsy felt the hollowness inside him, something he'd lived with so long he'd started to forget it was there, begin to fill, bubbling over, breathless with it. He squirmed up Harry's long body, hooking his hands over his shoulders to pull himself closer so Harry didn't have to reach for his mouth. He was frantic for it, jaw dropping wide to try and take him in, then pressing his tongue into Harry's mouth because it wasn't enough, and he'd left good sense and common decency somewhere far behind.

And Harry didn't mind. He kept one arm wrapped firmly around Eggsy's back, and threaded the other through his hair and cupping his cheek.

“Oh Eggsy,” he breathed, when they broke apart. “You are marvellous.” He tightened his grip a fraction and rolled them over, setting the bees buzzing above them. Eggsy squirmed under the warm weight of him, his prick stiff in his trousers, wanting and not sure if it was right to want, and Harry scraped his teeth down Eggsy's neck and Eggsy grabbed handfuls of his jacket, trying not to arch up against him, his breathing ragged in his own ears.

“Eggsy, is this quite what you want?” Harry murmured, his lips brushing a collarbone. “Because I would not want you to regret-”

He was already pulling back and Eggsy couldn't have that. He wrapped his legs around Harry's hips, dug his fingers into his coat. “No no, don't go. Please. I've wanted you, I've waited.” So much, he realised.

He'd had his prick held a couple of times by the bolder girls he knew, and he thought that was mostly what it would be like, but all it took was Harry's breath on his chest and his name in his mouth to light him up, and he understood, then, what all those songs were sung about, why people gave up their reputations, their fortunes, wasted away, or _died_ for this.

He panted out Harry's name as he felt Harry's hands map out his torso through his shirt. He hadn't even noticed him taking off his gloves. He tightened his grip on Harry's hips with his legs and Harry surged forward, pinned him down and kissed him again like he'd missed his mouth. He was hard, Eggsy could feel it through their trousers and his toes curled in his boots, a spike of fear somewhere in the roiling desperate heat in his insides.

They make jokes, told out of hearing of the women, of the things men do to each other, that men do to boys, that priests do to altar boys, that lords do to their stable-hands and Eggsy had laughed along with them, dubious.

And now.

Didn't matter, he thought, stomach quivering as one of Harry's hands snaked between them, working on the button of his trousers. It would be all right. He wanted too much, wouldn't dream of stopping him as he knew this might never happen again if he did, and he poured his nervousness into kissing him, thought he could drown in it.

Eventually Harry broke away, reluctantly, dipping back down to taste his lips again.

“Turn over for me,” Harry breathed, and Eggsy did as he was asked, biting his lip, his fingers curling in the grass as Harry pulled his trousers and pants down to his knees. Because he thought he might do anything for Harry, anything at all. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his backside, and imagined the heat of Harry's gaze, but he wasn't game to look, focusing on an ant climbing the stem of a daisy, inches from his nose.

“Eggsy,” Harry breathed into the back of his neck, warm above and behind him, still clothed or mostly, and Eggsy nodded, swallowing hard. Whatever he wanted. “Then put your legs together.” Harry nudged him, hands on his thighs.

Eggsy realised what Harry wanted when he felt him pressing in between them, hot and heavy and Eggsy twisted his head down to look, frustrated that his own shirt obscured the view. He should have known Harry wouldn't hurt him, that there was nothing to fear. He clenched his thighs harder, and braced himself on one arm so he could pull his shirt up with the other hand, tuck it under his chin so he could see the end of Harry's prick between his legs, gleaming head pushing out of the foreskin and back as he rocked his hips.

Eggsy could barely breathe, mesmerised, his own cock rigid against his stomach, hard enough to hurt. He could feel the hairs on his thighs catch sometimes as Harry moved, but oh, Harry seemed to like it, his breath harsh and warm.

“You're so beautiful.” Harry was tall enough to reach down around his shoulder and place his hand over one of Eggsy's fists. “Allow me,” he said, and his other hand curled around Eggsy's cock and Eggsy nodded furiously, his shirt falling down again and he gave up on it, closing his eyes, his mouth hanging open, his cheek against the grass, the buckles and buttons of Harry's outfit pressed against his bare back. He wanted to see more of Harry, even as he reeled under the sensation of getting more than he'd ever dreamed of.

Harry had stopped making sense, or maybe Eggsy had lost the capacity to understand speech, the older man pouring fragments of words into his ear, and Eggsy could only think, _I_ did this, I made him gasp and gabble so, made his hips snap forward, made him smell like lust. And then Eggsy thought nothing else, only felt, Harry's hand squeezing him, stroking him firm and not quite how he touched himself, keeping him from the edge for what felt like hours, and then he was over it, gasping Harry's name, shuddering, his aching thighs squeezed tight because even if he forgot everything else, he had to please Harry, had to make him buck against him and shake, and Eggsy realised he was, his teeth against Eggsy's cheek, and then he was gasping, relaxing his grip and they toppled sideways, broken grass stems pricking at Eggsy's thigh while Harry hugged him close to his heaving chest.

“Oh, my Eggsy,” Harry said and Eggsy grinned, wiggling around in his hold to face him, edging his trousers up as he did so because he knew his legs would itch otherwise. His Eggsy; hadn't he been saying that from the start? And the way Harry looked at him, maybe Harry was a bit Eggsy's too. He had Harry's spend on his legs and stomach, and he didn't really care. It would wash off. Later.

They tidied themselves up, but Harry didn't move away, just lay in the grass, heedless of his clothing, and let Eggsy curl up against him, listening to him breathe. He was so happy, so happy and even the distant knowledge that they couldn't lie here forever couldn't dampen it.

A bit cautiously, Eggsy offered him a kiss and Harry accepted it. Breaking it off eventually because he still hadn't caught his breath and gazing at him fondly, and then a bit sadly.

“What is it?” Eggsy asked. “I'm not upset, Harry.” Oh, he liked saying that name. It was his favourite, he decided. “It was good.” An understatement, but he didn't know what else to say.

Harry just caressed his cheek with his thumb. “I'm going to have to send you away,” he said softly.

“What? No. I can, I could be your valet,” he said. Undress him at night and dress him in the morning and in the hours between hold him and be held and-

“Eggsy.” He sounded a bit more like the lord now, and not the lover. “I already have a valet and I think he'd be most annoyed to find himself so swiftly replaced.” His stern expression started to crumble. “My darling, we would be discovered. I have such trouble looking away from you, surely you've noticed, and others would too. Life would be wretched while we waited for the inevitable.” He shook his head. “I'm so sorry. I should never-”

“I ain't going!” Eggsy said fiercely. “Even if I can just see you a little, it will be enough.” It would have to be. “That was what I was doing anyway and then this.” This wonderful, brilliant thing. Didn't Harry see this was something special?

Harry continued like he hadn't heard, frowning slightly as he thought it through as Eggsy curled his fingers desperately in his coat. “I should send you far away. Overseas, to the army. But I couldn't bear not knowing where you were, or if you were alive or dead. Eggsy.” He took his face between his large hands, and he looked so earnest that Eggsy couldn't be angry at him, even as he felt him slipping away. “I will not ruin you.”

Eggsy thought he wouldn't care if he were ruined. Maybe they could run off; he wouldn't care for Harry any less if he weren't a lord. But they both had responsibilities. People who depended on them and he knew it was nothing more than an idle fancy.

“You will learn a trade,” Harry said. “My tailor complains constantly about the lack of suitable apprentices, and I will recommend you so highly he will be obliged to give you a fair chance.”

“Tailoring?” A trade. Almost despite himself Eggsy felt his heart lift. Apprenticeship, a job, maybe his own business someday; more than he ever could have imagined. Moving up in the world. “But.” He reached up and put his hands over Harry's. “I want to see you.”

A sad smile. “You will, from time to time. But, Eggsy, promise me, should you come to feel affection for another, don't look back. Don't live as I have, rattling around a house all alone.” Eggsy closed his eyes as Harry pressed his lips to his forehead and tried not to cry.

Eggsy couldn't imagine anyone coming close to Harry, but he thought of Michelle and Daisy, and the status and money he could confer on them.

“Yes, Harry.”


	3. Summer

Eggsy didn't know if the city was hotter than the village or if these last two summers had been particularly warm, but he felt like he was boiling. He'd been given a little space to himself, at the back of the stockroom at Kingsman Tailors, and although rather stuffy it was quite cosy in winter. He was looking forward to it. If he lived long enough to survive the heat.

Chester King, the owner, was in favour of elevating the lower classes in theory, but gave the impression he thought Eggsy had been elevated a bit too far. Eggsy, for his part, was determined to make the most of this opportunity. He was a bit old to be an apprentice, but he didn't complain about the menial work, and his thumbs grew callouses thick enough that he couldn't prick himself when he practised his stitching, late in the evening.

He wasn't paid, but he was given a room, and decently fed, and occasionally the gentlemen for whom he fetched things while they were being fitted would toss him a coin or two. He did his best to observe everything about the trade, and noticed that the gentlemen had accounts with the shop, and the shop had accounts with the suppliers of cloth and thread, and Eggsy wondered if poor folks were the only ones who actually bothered with real money any more.

He worked hard, and wrote home to his delighted mother, and sent her most of the coins he received. Michelle sent him back baked things and fruit which he shared dutifully with the other tailors—save for Chester, who always refused. Daisy sent him letters too, her writing big and round and childish still.

Harry sent him nothing.

Not that Eggsy expected different. He just wished it were different. Harry hadn't even offered him the apprenticeship officially in person, it came via his steward. And Eggsy understood, he did, because everything had changed in that field of flowers; he'd become something else, something that must be hidden and denied, and he lived in fear of discovery.

He'd learned things in the city. He'd met other men who'd try and strike up his acquaintance and Eggsy didn't know how they recognised him, what subtle brand he wore, but he never reciprocated. They weren't worth the risk; only Harry was worth that.

It wouldn't have made a difference, he told himself as he tossed and turned in the heat of the night, if he'd been a girl. Harry couldn't have married him then either, unless he'd been the heroine of a novel and secretly a duchess or something.

It wasn't all that comforting.

But work was distracting, and it filled up the days and God willing if he couldn't be happy his family would be.

He'd doubt himself. He'd doubt Harry. But every so often Harry would visit the shop, and his eyes wouldn't linger, and Eggsy would look away. Chester had clear ideas about when and how one of Eggsy's station might speak to Lord Hart, but since His Lordship had recommended Eggsy in the first place it was only natural he'd ask as to his progress. These conversations achieved little, as dry and stilted as mannequins in the window and more frustrating than silence. But upon leaving Harry would pause at the door and look back, always, and the look in his eyes would be enough to rekindle the fire in Eggsy's heart.

Eggsy got up before dawn in summer, just because it was the only time that it was cool. He'd get the shop ready for opening, and make coffee for the tailors when they arrived. The alley behind the shop was cool and shadowed in the early morning and he'd relish it bare-chested before buttoning himself up for the day. The clothes he wore weren't technically his, but he had to look presentable for the clients.

Eggsy opened all the windows, greeted his colleagues, and began a day like all the others.

Lord Hart was not their best client exactly; it wasn't like he kept up with the latest fashions and needed new clothes often, nor did he, like some gentlemen, require alterations as his waistline expanded, but he was their most respectable (despite the name, Kingsman had no royals on their client list.) Thus, he could turn up unannounced, and declare he was having a new suit made, and accommodations would be made, other clients passed on to more junior tailors, and fitting rooms cleared for the duration.

A new suit, Eggsy thought, having shamelessly eavesdropped on the conversation when Harry had strolled in. He knew that would mean repeat visits, and he couldn't keep from smiling as he made Harry some tea, made it with care and affection. He'd graduated to doing some of the stitching in the shop; boring, straightforward bits that wouldn't be visible, but he doubted he'd be allowed to do even that on Harry's suit.

Eggsy was still tidying up the fitting room after Harry left, and he spotted a glove crumpled on the floor. Harry's. He picked it up and brought it to his lips, but it retained no sense of its owner. He brought it out and showed it to Chester and said it must have fallen out of Harry's coat pocket.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go and return it. Run!”

Eggsy set off at a run as ordered, and skidded to a halt when he spotted Harry's carriage waiting for him around the corner. He should have known it, he thought, grinning as Harry opened the door and beckoned him inside.

The carriage started moving as soon as Eggsy scrambled in and offered Harry his glove.

“You dropped something, Your Lordship,” he said, still unable to believe his luck, Harry sitting across from him, their knees brushing. He could stare if he wanted, and he did so, gazing at Harry's face.

“Thank you, Eggsy,” Harry said, and accepted the glove before handing Eggsy a half crown.

Eggsy frowned, “You don't have to give me this.”

“I do. When you return some time later, Chester will ask how your errand went, and I'm afraid that's the only language he understands. Show him that and he'll be reassured I found your performance adequate.”

Eggsy tucked the coin into his pocket, trying not to get too excited about the 'some time later.' Harry had planned this, clearly. Their carriage rumbled across the cobblestones, Harry looking pensive, and Eggsy just looking at Harry.

He'd hardly changed at all, maybe a few silver hairs.

Harry sighed. “I wanted to tell you this in person, Eggsy, although you'd have heard it soon enough anyway. I am to be married.”

Eggsy felt the air leave his lungs like it had been punched out of him.

“It is a marriage of duty and compassion, nothing more. A man may seek his fortune anywhere in the world should he choose to, but a woman must rely on her husband's good nature.”

“'Course,” Eggsy muttered, although he didn't get what Harry was driving at. Really, this changed nothing, nothing at all, but Harry had lived so long without taking a wife, the thought had never occurred to him that he might change his mind. Love or not, he would walk with someone beside him, someone that wasn't Eggsy.

“I'd like you to attend,” Harry said. “If that would be all right.”

“Yeah.” It would be another day he'd get to see Harry, even if he had to watch him marry someone else. Eggsy took a deep, shaky breath, and for the first time in his life wanted to be out of Harry's presence. “Is that it?” he asked, biting back a 'Your Lordship' because as angry as he was, Harry looked a bit heartbroken and he couldn't twist the knife like that.

“Yes, Eggsy.” He called for the coachman to stop, and Eggsy gave him a sickly smile as he clambered out onto the street.

Over the next few weeks Eggsy learned that Harry was marrying a Roxanne Morton, one of the younger daughters of a respectable family. She was, according to the gossip Michelle faithfully passed on to him, considered a bit wild, and old enough that some of her relatives despaired of her ever marrying. Lord Hart was a better match than they could have hoped for, and the older man would calm her down some, was the expectation.

Eggsy was torn between angrily not caring and rereading the letters carefully and trying to imagine what sort of person this Miss Morton was. She wouldn't make Harry happy, he was certain of it, even as he had to admit a wilful woman would suit Harry better than a dutiful one.

He went back and forth on his promise to attend, but he made the mistake of mentioning it to Michelle, and then he had no choice. She said Daisy desperately missed him, and Eggsy suspected she was speaking for herself as well.

Which is how, one fine summer morning, he left well before dawn to make his way home, riding with various farmers and traders until he was within walking distance of the village.

Harry was well-liked and everyone was both surprised and delighted by the upcoming nuptials, so the entire village had been scrubbed and polished and Michelle had sewn Daisy a new dress, and everywhere Eggsy went children were shrieking and people were preparing for a feast; what better excuse for a party in midsummer than a noble wedding?

Eggsy was cold to it all. He greeted his family with hugs and smiles, and gave Michelle what money he had, but he felt weirdly detached, and his mind kept wandering. He looked at the summer wildflowers by the church so long and hard Daisy noticed and asked him to help make a chain to go with her new dress. It gave him something to do.

The beer was already flowing at The Black Prince, even if it wasn't quite proper, and the crowd was very merry as they gathered outside the church. Inside, of course, was reserved for friends and family of the happy couple, and Michelle kept up a running commentary on all the fancy dresses and hats as the guests assembled.

Eggsy caught a glimpse of Harry at last, in the doorway of the church, dressed in the new suit Eggsy had watched take shape over the past few weeks. He was ushered inside, stopped, and looked back.

Eggsy dug his nails into his palms.

The bride was veiled when she walked from the carriage to the church, so Eggsy only saw her when she exited, no longer a bride but a wife, the bells ringing in the tower above, the crowd cheering and throwing flowers. She was beautiful, Eggsy could see it even from where he was standing, a little distance away from the rest now Michelle had moved closer with the rest of the crowd to shout her well wishes, and despite the rumours not any older than Eggsy himself.

Harry smiled at her, reserved, but not unhappy, not forced. They waved at the crowd, perhaps not an ecstatic couple, but a handsome one, Eggsy couldn't deny that.

What was he even doing here?

The Harts left for the manor and the village got down to celebrating in earnest. Eggsy sought out Michelle and gave his excuses; he was expected back early at the shop, Chester was still looking for reasons to get rid of him, it was best if he grabbed something to eat on the road and left, and Michelle didn't really understand, and that was for the best.

Only one other person might have understood, and he was carrying his bride across the threshold.

The next morning Eggsy heard the couple had left for a honeymoon somewhere in Europe, and he glumly swept out the shop and waited for that horrible summer to end.


	4. Autumn

Autumn brought swirling fog, bitterly cold rain, and a young woman to Kingsman Tailors. Sometimes a wife or daughter would sit in on a fitting to give her opinion or keep the gentleman company, but this lady came alone.

Eggsy didn't see her come in, busy in the back room sewing, but he heard her voice and risked peeping around the doorway to see who she was. She was not tall but she held herself as if she were, dressed in a long, fur-trimmed coat that Eggsy recognised as both fine and fashionable, her hair tucked artfully up under her hat.

She seemed familiar, but it was only when Percival, who was manning the counter at the time, referred to her as 'Your Ladyship' that he realised he was looking at Harry's young wife.

He hadn't heard from Harry since the wedding (and why should he) but even this indirect connection had his heart kicking. He moved his head back so he wouldn't be seen but he leaned closer to the doorway, listening hard. He couldn't hate Lady Hart; he didn't know her after all, and despite everything he wanted Harry to be married to someone he liked, rather than the alternative.

“I have some items that I cannot trust to the post that must be delivered to my husband personally. He's told me that a very reliable young man works here. Would you be able to spare Master Unwin for a day or two? I simply have nowhere else to turn.”

Percival never spoke loudly, so Eggsy couldn't hear the response, but he nearly fell off his stool trying to. What on earth was going on?

Percival decided this question was beyond his station to answer and he went to fetch Chester and a little while later Eggsy himself was summoned.

He found himself under quite intense scrutiny from Lady Hart, but there didn't seem to be anything that displeased her about him. Did she _know_? How could she know? Harry wouldn't have told her, surely. He kept his eyes cast down.

“It will be all right, won't it?” she asked, and Chester looked like he was going to object when she continued. “The shop will be able to manage without him, I suppose.”

“Of course, Your Ladyship.” Chester managed to sound grovelling and affronted at the same time and Eggsy bit back a smile.

“Excellent. I'll leave it with you, Master Unwin.”

“Well, don't just stand there gawking,” Chester snapped, reasserting his authority. “Get your coat and go.”

Eggsy did as he was bid, and Lady Hart was waiting for him outside, with an umbrella over her head and a little wooden box in her other hand. She saw Eggsy into a carriage, and passed the box to him. “Now remember. The box cannot leave your sight until you give it to Lord Hart. No one else, understand?”

“Yes, Your Ladyship,” Eggsy said.

“Have a safe journey, Eggsy,” she said, and before Eggsy could wonder how she knew his nickname, she was gone, striding down the street like she owned it. The driver flicked the reins, and they moved off. Eggsy stared at the box and then put it aside on the seat next to him with nothing more to occupy his time than the dismal scenery outside and the thought of seeing Harry again when he arrived at his destination.

The trip seemed to take five times as long as it should, even taking into account the ill-temper of the horses and the puddly nature of the roads, and yet Eggsy felt terribly unprepared as the carriage rattled up the driveway to the manor. Eggsy hadn't had time to change before he'd left and his clothes were respectable enough that no one looked at him too strangely when he presented himself. No one seemed to recognise him either, but he hadn't worked there very long. He explained his mission to the butler, who went to give Lord Hart the message, and he returned a short while later to show Eggsy up to the study and make sure he didn't nick anything on the way.

All too soon Eggsy was ushered into the study, the room bright and warm, lit by both lamps and a fire and the butler withdrew, shutting the door behind him, leaving him alone with Lord Hart.

Harry was waiting for him, as untouchable as ever, standing near the window overlooking the front garden with his hands clasped behind his back. Eggsy wondered if he'd been watching the carriage, had seen him arrive.

“Eggsy,” he said softly in a low tone that invited an approach.

“Her Ladyship-”

“I know.” Harry unclasped his hands from behind his back and Eggsy's eyes dropped to the ring on his finger. “Put the box on the desk. Open it, if you want.”

Eggsy frowned, setting the box down carefully. He had been curious, but assumed it either contained letters or jewellery. Certainly nothing very heavy.

“Go on.” It was the faint smile on Harry's face that did it, that streak of mischief in him that Eggsy liked so much. Eggsy pressed the catches on the front and lifted the lid.

It was empty.

Eggsy stepped back like he'd been burned, Harry walking towards him.

“What is this?” Eggsy asked warily.

“We employed a little ruse to get you down here without suspicion,” Harry said and his smile faded. “I couldn't find you after the wedding.”

“You was looking?” Eggsy asked, incredulous and trying not to feel some kind of twisted sense of hope.

“Oh Eggsy, did you think I'd forgotten you?” He was reaching out, with one of those hands Eggsy never thought he'd touch again and he couldn't stop himself, he grasped it, and Harry squeezed his fingers, hard enough that it was uncomfortable, and not hard enough at all. “Not for a moment,” he said. “I promise you.”

Eggsy still didn't understand why he was here, but at that moment it didn't matter. Harry's gaze was so warm, and Eggsy stepped closer without even deciding to do so and Harry put his other hand around the back of Eggsy's head, pressing his face to Harry's shoulder, breathing him in.

“My darling, it's been so long. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd forgotten me.” Harry's fingers were in his hair, rubbing gently at the back of his neck. Eggsy could barely believe it wasn't a dream, but it was too solid, too real.

“I'd never, Harry,” Eggsy said and he felt Harry sigh with relief. Suddenly he jerked his head back. “You're married,” he said abruptly.

“In the eyes of the law and church only,” Harry said, as if it were a trifle, and then he shrugged. “But you're right. We do have things to discuss.” Harry didn't seem to feel the need to discuss whatever needed to be discussed right then, however, and Eggsy closed his eyes and rested his head on Harry's shoulder, one ear out for footsteps on the landing but otherwise content to be held and gently petted. Forever, if such a thing were possible.

It had been dark and gloomy all day, and a rumble of thunder startled them out of their embrace. Harry stepped over to the window and peered out at the road.

“It's getting a bit late. Ah, there she is.”

Once again Eggsy felt things were moving around him without him knowing, and he stood awkwardly, waiting, watching Harry watch out the window, and not two minutes after he finally turned away and closed the curtains, the rain now coming down quite steadily, Lady Hart strode into the room, a young woman in a plain dress at her heels.

“Harry,” she said, smiling.

“Roxy.” Harry inclined his head.

Lady Hart closed the door firmly behind her.

“Harry, this is Miss Tilde. Tilde, Lord Hart.”

The young woman curtsied deeply. “Your Lordship.”

Harry acknowledged her politely. “This is Master Eggsy Unwin.” He beckoned Eggsy to come forward and Eggsy frowned and nodded awkwardly.

“Evening, Miss. Your Ladyship.”

“You haven't told him anything,” Lady Hart said, with some exasperation. “What on earth have you been doing?”

“Well-”

“I don't want to know. Eggsy, my dear.” Eggsy flinched as she grasped his hands. “You must know you are not alone in certain things. That it's possible to find understanding among others similar if oppositely inclined to yourself.”

Eggsy didn't get it, feeling more confused than ever and Lady Hart glanced at Harry for help.

Harry leaned over and whispered in Eggsy's ear. “Tilde is to Roxy what you are to me. In general terms.”

Tilde couldn't have heard what he said but she turned bright red anyway. Eggsy opened and closed his mouth trying to make sense of this and he drew breath to ask for clarification.

“Just take my word for it,” Harry forestalled him.

“I would never have agreed to marry him if he hadn't ...understood,” Lady Hart said. “We weren't quite caught, but we were suspected. Thank God I'd never referred to Tilde by name so no shadow fell on her. I suppose I would have ended up in a convent if I hadn't married and mended my ways,” she smiled faintly.

She released Eggsy's hands as Harry took up the story.

“I heard the rumours. I am good friends with the Mortons, and at first I simply wished to provide some advice and sympathy. But Roxy had other ideas.”

“You looked so lovesick I knew there was more to it. He wouldn't tell me your name, Eggsy. Not until after we'd formalised our alliance to keep propriety's wolf from our door. I thought you'd long ago lost touch with each other, or I would have approached you earlier.”

“Betraying myself was one thing, but I had to be certain before I mentioned you, Eggsy,” Harry said. He glanced at his wife, “In the meantime, you wouldn't believe how happy I've made your relatives.”

“I might,” Lady Hart smiled, and Eggsy rather thought he liked her.

“The honeymoon trip was already arranged but Harry thought he'd tell you after the wedding before we had to leave. Give you time to think things over while we were out of the country.”

“Only I'd run off,” Eggsy said.

“It gave us to organise things at least. Eggsy, do you think you could contrive to visit more often if you had a sweetheart here?”

“Well,” Eggsy glanced at Harry. “Um, I suppose.”

Lady Hart stepped aside, gesturing to Tilde, who clearly already knew what was coming and regarded Eggsy with eyes alight with mischief. “Miss Tilde has just joined our household as my lady's maid. You might meet this evening when you're taking your supper in the kitchens. You might get along well.”

“Oh, I see.” He was getting it now. “I hope so.” He winked at her and she lowered her eyes demurely and somehow sarcastically.

“Right, that looks promising,” Lady Hart said. “I'm going to talk to the steward about getting Tilde settled in. I'll see you at dinner, dearest husband.”

“Your Lordship, Master Unwin,” Tilde curtsied again.

Harry didn't say anything until after they'd gone.

“You don't have to do this,” He said, while Eggsy stared at him. “Tilde will have a place in this household as long as she and Roxy wish it. This deception is only for your benefit, and mine. I realise we've schemed an awful lot around you without consulting you-”

“Harry.” Eggsy could hardly believe he had to say it. “Doing all of this for me. Yes, yes of course I will. It's everything I ever wanted.” He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest he was so happy.

“I'm glad to hear it,” Harry said. “More than I can say.” He sighed and collected himself. “You should go down to the kitchens. Even Mr King can't possibly expect you to travel on such a wretched evening so I'm sure they'll find you somewhere to sleep.” He rummaged around in the desk. “Here.” He handed Eggsy a key. “This will get you into the house through the conservatory. No one should be in that part of the house after eleven or so, so you can come upstairs, if you'd like.”

Eggsy smiled.

“Yes, Harry.”

Harry had given him further directions while Eggsy clutched the precious item and he was still in a bit of a daze when he made his way down to the kitchens, going over everything that had transpired that day. Eventually Tilde joined him and they reintroduced themselves, taking themselves off to a corner to talk, much to the annoyance of some of the other servants, who were also interested in meeting the pretty new maid.

Tilde was happy to share her life story; her family was from Sweden originally, and she'd been employed as a governess to one of Lady Hart's nephews. It was while she'd been employed that she'd met Miss Morton, and she would say no more about that, but where did you meet His Lordship? And Eggsy explained, unburdened, his affection for Tilde unfeigned as he finally had found someone to talk to, who understood and wouldn't condemn him.

They talked as long as was proper and Eggsy was given somewhere to sleep. Without any luggage he curled up in his clothes, listening to the thunder and waiting for the household to finally go to bed. There was no danger of him dozing off, acutely aware of whose roof he was currently under, and the key burning a hole in his pocket. He could have found warm water somewhere in the kitchen but scared of being caught he snuck out to the stables and nearly froze scrubbing himself down near the well.

It occurred to him, halfway up the stairs, still shivering, that the key Harry had given him was probably worth a fortune; he could have walked in and just taken a great many expensive things, if he were more like his stepfather. Harry trusted him with so much.

As promised the house seemed deserted, although Eggsy wondered if Tilde was creeping about somewhere too. They would have to be careful still, but they had allies now, they'd lie for each other, and Eggsy didn't feel bad about it at all, this strange household.

He followed Harry's directions carefully and found himself standing outside a wooden door, his heart knocking so hard in his chest he almost felt knocking on the door itself would be superfluous. He did knock, as quietly as possible, worried he'd somehow come to the wrong door, but it was Harry who opened it and ushered him inside.

He was dressed in pyjamas and a red robe, and he locked the door behind them as Eggsy surveyed a place he'd never imagined he'd see; the master bedroom. There were paintings on the walls and a fire in the fireplace, and the crackle of it almost drowned out the sound of the rain against the windows. The curtains were all closed, their privacy inviolate.

“You're freezing,” Harry murmured, putting his hand to Eggsy's cheek.

“You'll warm me up?” Eggsy asked hopefully. “Harry.”

Harry kissed him, kissed him like a dam breaking, like an old tree topping to lightning strike—unstoppable and inevitable. It was as if his own name had broken the spell and he wrapped his arms about Eggsy, pulling him close, cold and damp and all, and Eggsy went up on his toes even though he didn't need the extra height but he wanted to be closer. The soft, weathered skin of Harry's face under his hands, his lips against Eggsy's teeth. The smell of him just as Eggsy remembered it. It was happening again, he was going to be caught up and swept away.

“That time we went riding,” Eggsy said, when they broke apart. “I thought that was it for me. For us.”

“So did I,” Harry said. He grasped Eggsy's hand and kissed it, and Eggsy noticed he wasn't wearing his ring. “We'll have to be careful, my dearest, but I think we might have a chance to be happy too.”

Eggsy grinned and tugged at Harry's robe, “Harry, c'mon, we don't have all night.” Did they? He supposed he'd best be back in his little corner before dawn at least, but that was a long way away.

Harry let himself be pulled closer, but his hands went to Eggy's buttons rather than his own. Eggsy supposed that was an invitation, and he returned the favour, his hands shaking a little as he pushed the robe off Harry's shoulders and started on the buttons of his pyjamas. He was allowed to do this, he told himself, pausing to touch the greying hair on Harry's chest. Harry let him for a little while, but once Eggsy's shirt was on the floor Harry bent down and kissed him again, pushing him back towards the bed and Eggsy nearly stumbled on his own discarded clothes.

It was a huge bed, and there were many covers. Eggsy brushed his blunt, work-calloused fingers over the first layer, Harry watching him silently. This was a marriage bed, a wedding bed, for the Lord and Lady, not the Lord and his-

“This is where you belong,” Harry breathed in his ear. “Where I'd keep you if I could, all night, all day.”

Eggsy shivered. Fuck, what were they waiting for? He kicked off his shoes and yanked off the rest of his clothes before he pulled back the covers and crawled onto the bed. He'd never felt one like this before. It was so soft. He'd slept on straw or folded cloth for all of his life, and he rolled over and flopped down, a little unnerved but delighted too, the sheets so smooth against his skin.

“Feels like I'm gonna sink into it,” he said, and then he forgot about the bed because Harry was crawling over him, the last of his clothes abandoned on the floor below.

Eggsy drank him in, first with his eyes, smooth pale skin lit orange by the fire, lean and lanky hips, broad shoulders, and a prick long and curving and hard. Eggsy couldn't resist touching him, reaching up with both hands to stroke his flanks, feel his ribs move. He's just a man after all; Eggsy had always believed that no man was born better than another but to see Harry like this, his belief was starting to waver. With nothing between them, he was more sure than ever that there was none to equal him.

Harry let himself drop into Eggsy's arms, put his lips to Eggsy's neck and breathed him in. When he raised his head he looked like a man in a dream.

“I can't believe I have you here,” Harry said. “That you welcome my attentions so. Don't look so startled, surely you've seen your reflection.” He started kissing Eggsy again before he could reply and Eggsy gave up thinking about it. Maybe they were both madmen to see the moon in the other's eyes. What did it matter?

Eggsy squirmed as Harry breathed against his neck, tickling him.

“You're warming up nicely,” Harry said. Eggsy didn't know what he was talking about. Warm? He felt like he was on fire. Harry wasn't moving, so even though the weight of him put wonderful pressure on his cock, there was no friction, just flat heat; want.

“Harry,” Eggsy whined, digging back into the bed trying to get some leverage. “Move.”

“Where to?” he asked, and Eggsy could feel his smile against his skin, and normally he would love being teased, love seeing the real Harry, but he was impatient, and desperate. Hadn't a year and a half been more than long enough to wait?

“Anywhere!”

“So demanding; I feel married all over again,” Harry murmured. “As you wish.” He wrapped his arms around Eggsy and rolled them over, releasing him so Eggsy could sit up on his stomach, Harry's cock hard under his balls. “There you are my dear, you can move as much as you like.” His eyes darkened. “And I get to watch you.”

Eggsy squirmed at that and Harry made a soft noise of approval. Oh, he liked that did he? His hands were resting on Eggsy's hips but not hard, his fingers drawing little circles lightly on his skin. Eggsy rolled his hips again, a bit more deliberately, but his balls were getting squished and his cock ached for actual touch, not just Harry's hungry gaze, so he moved back a little, wondering if he seemed awkward, but Harry was looking at him like he could do no wrong.

So he angled himself differently, arching his back and bracing himself on his hands as he aligned Harry's prick with his own. Harry's hands were wandering as he reached back, cupping the curve of Eggsy's backside and squeezing, urging him up and forward and Eggsy did as he was asked, sighing as he felt Harry flex underneath him. Their first time had been in a rush, their circumstances against them, but now they didn't have to hurry in fear of discovery or of their horses wandering.

Harry's fingers crept further back and Eggsy shuddered as one brushed his hole, sensitive and strange and he was glad he'd half-frozen himself by the well earlier. He'd trust, he'd trust it would be all right, and Harry didn't do any more than that this time, watching him with half lidded eyes, a lazy smile on his face.

Eggsy leaned down and kissed it off him, and rocked his hips a bit more urgently, the hot drag of Harry's cock against his own its own reward, even as Harry released one of his buttocks and reached between them to grasp it.

Eggsy rocked between Harry's hands, pressing his open mouth to Harry's chin, his cheek, his neck, stubble prickling his lips. They were lying across the bed rather than in it and Harry let his head loll back, breathing hard and murmuring Eggsy's name between quiet gasps.

Eggsy tried to stay quiet, some part of him still fearful, but Harry's hands were driving him mad, the one finger still circling, sensitising, and his other hand trapping Eggsy's cock against his own, slippery and hot and whichever way he moved Eggsy couldn't get away from it. He choked on his own groans, even as Harry told him it was all right, my dear, do as you please. Easy for him to say, with Eggsy shaking apart in the palm of his hand.

Maybe he'd underestimated himself because Harry was suddenly shuddering beneath him, jaw dropping and Eggsy pressed himself down _harder_ against Harry's prick, digging his fingers into Harry's shoulders, his teeth into his neck, wanting him to feel Eggsy all over him, hoping that was what he liked.

He liked it. Maybe he loved it, because he came moments later, and Eggsy hadn't time to feel proud of the sounds he'd wrung from Harry's throat because it was too much for him, and he thrust desperately, squelching into Harry's fist, toes curling and teeth gritted.

Harry released him and Eggsy slid off to the side, eyeing the truly spectacular mess on Harry's chest and stomach.

“Um.”

“Don't even pretend to be sorry,” Harry said, cracking an eye open to look at him and Eggsy grinned, pillowing his head on his arm.

“What is going to happen?” Eggsy asked after a little while.

“Right now or in the future?” Harry asked, snatching a pillow with his clean hand and arranging it under his head.

“The future.” Eggsy looked at him, his skin glistening and flushed and his hair a mess. “I know what I want to do right now.” He did it, leaning over and kissing the corner of Harry's mouth and Harry turned his head to kiss him back.

“Do you think Mr King will offer you a place, once you've completed your apprenticeship?” Harry asked, which was not the question Eggsy was expecting.

“Never,” Eggsy said. “I'm sure he's counting the days 'til he's rid of me.”

“Well, if you find yourself with a wife who already has a place in a household, I suppose a place would be made for you as well. It's only right.”

Eggsy lifted his head and frowned. “Marry Tilde?”

“Not right away, as you still have your apprenticeship, and you should probably get to know the girl first, but why not?”

Eggsy flopped back down. “Mum would be delighted. For about a year, and then she'll start askin' me about grandchildren.” Eggsy frowned. That was a good point. “Lady Hart,” he began.

“Roxy has indicated she doesn't desire children, something we discussed before we were married,” Harry said. “She has her own rooms here, but a honeymoon carries the expectation that only one bed is required.” He sounded so put upon Eggsy had to stop himself from laughing. “It was terribly awkward.”

“You survived.”

“I did.” He looked at Eggsy. “We both did, somehow.”

“Harry,” Eggsy said softly. There was something he felt he should say, even as he felt rather silly for saying it.

“Yes?”

“I feel a bit married already.” It was this bed, he decided, or the way Harry kept looking at him, or the way he'd been prepared to wait, indefinitely, for something he had no reason to expect he would ever receive.

Harry looked at him wonderingly for a few moments and he smiled. “Wait a moment.” He sat up abruptly, grimacing at the mess. Eggsy was treated to the sight of Lord Hart, stark naked, cleaning himself off with a handkerchief (then two, when the first proved not quite adequate) and then rummaging furiously through his desk. “Ah.”

Eggsy sat up as Harry approached again, something in his hand.

“This is,” he looked at it and then at Eggsy. “This medal belonged to my father. I can't give you a ring, Eggsy, but I want you to have this as a token.” Eggsy reached for it, cradling it in his palms. “Of my love, I suppose. It doesn't look like much, and doubt anyone would recognise it if they saw it, but it's yours, if you'll have it.”

Eggsy curled his fingers around it and looked up at Harry, his eyes feeling watery. “But what do I give you in return?” he asked.

“Eggsy, you already given me everything I could want.” He touched Eggsy's face gently. “But if you don't yet understand, move over and I will tell you, even if it takes all night.”


End file.
